Sink or Swim
by the.love.that.binds
Summary: She knew she could save him. But could she save herself? Lydia/Stiles/Cora
1. Chapter 1

"Stiles? _Stiles!_" My voice bounces nervously around the room and I look to Isaac and Deaton, panicked. Isaac's holding down Allison and Deaton's holding down Scott. Deaton had said that the person who held each of our selected person's shoulders down underwater should be able to bring them back from the dead. I started logically adding up the odds, but then stopped. We were relying on magic, not logic.

Deaton looks tensed, his arms gripping Scott's shoulders with added strength in case he tries to come back up for air. It's hard for all of us, but we have to do this. I don't exactly like having to drown - I look down at Stiles, wondering what we are - my...my best friend's mutual friend, in a bathtub filled with ice cubes. It must be freezing in there, and I shudder to think of myself completely submerged in the icy water.

I try to relax my grip on Stiles's shoulders, trying to seem comforting. Seconds later his body backs up, his natural instincts telling him to come up for air.

"Hold him! _Hold him down_!" Deaton shouts, and I comply, throwing my weight against Stiles's shoulders, my hair falling over my shoulders. But he's strong, and on top of that, following his natural instinct to survive. His body thrashes up but I submerge his head back underwater, tears forming in my eyes.

"I can't - I'm _killing_ him!" I shriek. It's true that my bond with him isn't as strong as my bond with Allison or Jackson, for instance, but I still care about forcing myself to kill someone.

"You _have_ to! It's the only way!" Deaton yells, his forceful tone trying to make me understand the urgency of the situation.

And I do. At least, the logical part of me does. I double my grip on Stiles, pushing him down with all the force I can muster, my hair falling around my face like curtains that cover me from Isaac and Deaton. So that they won't see my tears, falling freely, touching his face on the surface of the water.

"Stiles, please! You told me you would save your dad, so please...this is the only way...don't make this any harder for me. Please," I beg, watching him struggle, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly, and I force him back underwater.

In some strange way I understand Stiles more than I used to. Before all of this supernatural business happened, I'd always thought he was just Stiles Stilinski, that idiot who made stupid jokes and who was way out of my league and who's dad was a cop. Now i can see there are so many more layers to him. He cares about if I get hurt, or if I die. He cares about me. He thinks I'm beautiful, and he knows my secret, and he's had a crush on me since the third grade. He cares a lot about his friends and family, and tries to cover up the pain with a quip or snappy remark, but I know better. I know when he's hurting.

Just a few hours ago, he had a panic attack when all of the three sacrifices were gathered together and he knew there was a strong chance of his dad dying. He had a panic attack. He was shaking when I held his face in my hands, and it was only then when I realized how much he was trying to keep calm and trying to restrain himself. He was trying to hide his pain, again, but some of it was showing through.

Nothing worked. Nothing calmed him down. So I kissed him.

Only then I realized how soft his lips were. And I was surprised and he was surprised too, and we realized that my kiss had stopped his panic attack. He held his breath.

For me?

Right now I'm looking down at his closed eyes, but then they manage to open slightly looking up at my crying face. He moves a hand through the water and I push down on his shoulders again but he only touches my hand, holding it, as if to tell me everything's going to be okay. His hand is icy cold, but there's a certain warmth that floods through my veins when he holds my hand. I'm not afraid to cry in front of him. He told me, that out of everyone, I shouldn't be ashamed to let anyone see my cry because I look beautiful when I cry. I was surprised to hear him say that, and i still am.

I nod in reassurance, my hand gripping his tightly, my tears blurring my vision, and when I wipe them away his eyes are closed again and his hand feels numb on mine. His strength is slipping away, and his hand begins to loosen from mine, but I hold him tightly. A strand of bubbles release from his slightly ajar mouth, releasing any last breaths of air he had left.

Stiles is dead.

I only hope the magic will bring him back. His dad's sheriff badge is still in his other hand.

After a few silent minutes I look up, all traces of tears gone. "Almost done?" I ask quietly.

"We should be there soon," Deaton replies, looking down with a concerned face at Scott. I look at Isaac and he's looking at Allison, her brown hair floating up to the surface, clouding parts of her face. I shift my hand through the water and place it gently on his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. I don't feel anything. I move my hand away and I force the tears down that are trying to break free.

It seems like long, slow hours have passed but in reality it must have been only minutes. Deaton signals for us to let go, and I do, watching Stiles's head float to the surface, my hands still on shoulders, one hand in mine.

Deaton had said that there would be a sort of darkness over their hearts if they came out alive from this. What type of darkness? To me Stiles was only laughs and jokes, and he was harmless. He wasn't capable of doing bad things. Would he be? Would the darkness claim his heart?

"You'll share a certain bond to them." Deaton speaks softly, his eyes on Scott. "You must get them to wake. Use your bond that you already share with them to wake them up. You will be tied to them for the rest of your life, in ways you never could have imagined."

I barely register his words as I drag Stiles out of the bathtub, but he's heavy, and he falls to the ground. I support his head under my hands before it crashes to the ground as well and I prop his head on my lap._ Please don't be dead Stiles please don't be dead oh no no no no_

Just like when he had a panic attack, I must be his anchor again, to tie him back to the ground and keep him from sleeping forever.

"Come on, Stiles." I hold his face in my hands. "Come on. Please." I hold his hands in mine, willing for strength to flood into them. I have to be anchor. To bring him back again. I think I see his eyes flutter and can feel a weak heartbeat when I put a hand on his chest but I'm not too sure. I'm not going to take any chances.

The logical part of me takes over yet once again and I realize that we can't just rely on magic, on what-if's.

He _must_ have swallowed water when he went under, so I lay his body carefully on the ground and pinch his nose, putting his lips to mine for the second time in one day._ Please! Don't be dead!_ I blow air into his lungs, pumping his heart furiously. After seconds of begging him and CPR, I finally get to see his brown eyes again. I've never been so happy to see his eyes, and at that moment I think it's the happiest moment in my life.

He coughs up icy water and chokes out, "I can't believe I died in a bathtub."

The sound I let it is between a strangled sob and a relieved laugh and I hug him, my face buried in his shoulder and his arms weakly come up to pull around me. When I pull back his fingers brush away something on my cheek. I look down. I hadn't realized I'd been crying. But I'm so relieved to see him that I barely notice.

"And that's probably the second and last time in one day that your lips will ever touch mine, isn't it?" he says in a stronger voice, and I laugh.

Beside me Isaac's hugging Allison and Deaton is helping Scott to his feet.

"CPR wasn't really necessary, Lydia," Deaton says to me, looking half-amused and half-relieved that we managed to somehow bring three people back to life again. "He was already alive when you held his hands."

"I didn't want to take any chances," I shrug, and I help pull Stiles to his feet. He's shaking, and I let him lean into me for support, wrapping a towel around him and rubbing my hands over his arms, trying to get him warmed up.

"Yeah, I can see that," Scott says, and we all laugh. "Everyone, okay?" he asks on a more serious note.

"Apart from being mentally shaken and having to drown someone in a bathtub with freezing cold water I'm fine, don't know about you guys," I say shakily, though I can still make out the matter-of-fact tone always evident in my voice.

"I'm fine," Allison says, hugging the towel more tightly around herself.

"That was...scary," Isaac says. Huge understatement.

Then we're all hugging everyone and laughing and I'm crying again. I'm so glad everyone's alive.

"Back to business," Deaton says curtly. "Scott, Allison, Stiles, you all gave the nemeton power. Scott, Isaac, since the tree is a beacon for all sorts of supernatural beings, you two should be able to find the location of everyone's parents."

"Let's go." Everyone flies out of the doorway, but Deaton signals us behind, and we stop.

"Stiles, Lydia, maybe you two should stay behind," Deaton reasons. "I'm sorry but it's no place for humans. You two could get gravely injured."

"No way," I fire back quickly. "Stiles's dad is in there. He deserves to go. And I'm a banshee, so maybe I can help in some way. Come on Stiles." I grab his arm and drag him to the doorway to follow the others, leaving Deaton there to register that piece of information. After he pauses he follows us quickly.

"Then you'll have to do as I say. If I say run, you run, understood?" Deaton tells us seriously.

"Not until I get my dad," Stiles says determinedly.

"I know," Deaton reassures them, and he moves up to monitor Scott and Isaac.

"Thank you," Stiles says sincerely, turning to me.

"I'm a fast talker," I reply.

"No - not just that - thank you for saving my life. Both times. I really don't know what I would have done if you weren't there."

Oh.

"You're welcome," I say back lightly with a flash of one of my rare genuine smiles, and I pull him forwards so that we don't get too behind.

* * *

_A/N: I really hoped you guys liked this one-shot, it's my first FanFiction about Teen Wolf and about Stiles/Lydia. Please tell me what you think ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

Night has fallen and we're racing through the forest, desperately trying to save three lives. I pray that my friends' parents aren't dead, and that we can rescue them safely without any collateral damage. But we're dealing with the supernatural world, and unfortunately there are always tons of collateral damage.

"Come on!" Deaton shouts, up ahead with Scott and Isaac. "Up here!"

"Not everyone has supernatural powers that grants you freakish steroid-induced (superhuman) speed," Stiles grunts, panting. I'm still running beside him, because, face it or not, we're the only two humans non-useful in our little rescue mission. I'm running a sweat myself and ignore his comment. Still, we both redouble our efforts and manage to somewhat catch up with the rest of the group.

"Stop!" Scott says suddenly, throwing out an arm to halt us. "We're here."

"Get down," Isaac hisses, and we all duck behind the bushes. It's dark anyways, so I doubt our former-teacher-actually-banshee-in-disguise will be able to see us, but I'm not counting on it. As long as she's supernatural, anything's pretty much possible. I suck in a breath, holding it in, trying to remain as silent as possible.

After a few terse moments Scott murmurs, "Jennifer's not there. It's only our parents."

"Let's go!" Deaton says. "Quickly!" His words send a thrill of adrenaline down my spine.

We rush towards the nemeton, and to me it looks absolutely familiar, as if I'd seen it in a dream, because I've been unknowingly obsessively drawing it page after page in my notebook. The others scan around the perimeter of the tree, trying to find a way to get in, or, under the tree.

"Dad! Dad! Can you hear me?" Stiles shouts.

"I'm coming, Mom, just hold on!" Scott yells.

"This time I'll save you Dad!" Allison promises.

"How the hell are we supposed to get in?" Isaac interrupts. He's right. There's no way under, unless we dig seven feet under the ground.

They start making a commotion and everyone starts arguing, but I walk slowly around the tree, my hand reached out to feel the tough, worn bark. "Lydia?" Stiles calls out to me, but his voice sounds distant and far away. I start feeling the bark for a familiar place and - _ah_ - there it is. I'd memorized the tree so well from my drawing, there's just one place in the bark that's chipped in. It's a symbol. I trace it then push it down, and a passage opens with stairs leading down.

* * *

"Dad!" I yell.

As the stairs descend the only see is my dad, his face ashen-grey and his uniform covered with dirt. He looks worn but not yet defeated, similar to times when he's had a hard question to solve for a case throughout a late night. But this time the situation is much worse, and the stakes are much higher.

"Stiles!"

I hurtle myself towards him and embrace him straight away, and the hand that's been gripping my heart for so long finally releases it's hold. I feel like I can finally breathe again, because all that matters is that he's here and he's safe. With me.

I release him quickly and begin trying to get the bonds restraining him off of him. But my human strength is feeble and weak, and I know I can't free him.

Isaac steps forward, and with a slash of his claws the ropes are cut.

I'm hugging him again, and he angles his head so that he can whisper in my ear something no one else can hear.

"I'm sorry for not believing, Stiles."

"It's okay," I assure him. "You do now." And I let the tears fall down my face. "I'm sorry too, Dad."

"For what?"

"For not finding you sooner," I say. "Are you hurt?" I quickly release him and start to examine him. "Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just glad you're here." He smiles at me, and I swear I feel like a little kid on a Christmas morning; I've never been so happy to see him smile. I look around and see that Allison and Scott have managed to free their parents and I grin. We finally won.

"Sorry to interrupt your happy reunion," a voice interrupts coldly, and my heart drops like a stone.

Jennifer.

I turn around quickly, dreading for the worst, and I'm right. Jennifer has Lydia, one claw stretched over her throat, ready to rip her throat out. Lydia's beautiful green eyes are wide with fear, and she's shaking like a leaf, though she tries to hide it and be brave. But I know better.

Instantly my anger boils over and something snaps in me. "I swear to God if you hurt her I'll-"

But Jennifer cuts me off with a bone-chilling laugh that cackles throughout the room.

Even throughout this situation I can't resist saying, "...God, that's not creepy at all."

Jennifer's glare instantly turns icy. "You can't save her, Stiles. You can't save anyone." That strikes a chord deep within me, and Jennifer knows she must have gotten through to me, because she smirks and rakes her claws against Lydia's throat, leaving behind the faintest of red scratches. It's enough to make my heart hammer wildly in my chest and the anger rushing to my head.

"Stop!" I yell, and my voice frightens even myself, as it echoes throughout the cave. "Please, don't hurt her. I'll do anything. Just let her go." Lydia looks at me, _really_ looks at me, as if surprised I would sacrifice myself to save her.

A determined glint appears in her eye, and in a fluid motion she slams her elbow into Jennifer's ribs and snaps her forearm into her throat, finishing with a hard kick to her midriff. Everything stands still for a moment as I watch Lydia in disbelief, but then time starts moving again and Scott is holding Jennifer's hands behind her back as Lydia escapes.

I stare at Lydia as she comes to stand with the rest of the group. "Close your mouth, Stiles," Lydia says to me curtly. "It was self-defense anyways."

I realize that I'm gaping at her like a fish without water. I quickly close my mouth and say, "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

She shoots me a look and tosses her hair in that Lydia-esque way of hers. I try to focus back on the situation at hand.

"Deucalion will turn you into a killer, Scott. He needs you to kill to become an alpha."

"And what do you want from us?" Scott demands.

With a cruel, cold, calculating smile Jennifer turns to the girl I love beside me. "Lydia."

An instant chill runs up my back and my anger resurfaces. "No!" I immediately shout. "Scott don't _trust_ her!"

Jennifer's still wearing that smile. "Who do you choose as your enemy, Scott? Me or Deucalion?" I can see my best friend hesitate.

"We can deal with Deucalion," Scott decides determinedly, and I release the breath of air I hadn't realized I'd been holding in for so long.

"We're going to have to kill her here," Isaac realizes.

"Before she escapes," Deaton adds, nodding grimly.

"What's your choice, Scott? Give Lydia up or become a killer?"

It's a tough situation. No one can win. Except for our enemies, whichever choice Scott picks. Before the silence lingers in the room, Lydia speaks up.

"I can run," she says shakily.

Heads snap towards her, and I say, "What?"

"I can escape from Beacon Hills," she clarifies. "I'll hide somewhere, and you guys can keep Jennifer in town while you find a way to kill her. Scott can't become a killer, and I don't want to be killed. It's for the best." I can't even believe what I'm hearing.

Jennifer's lips are curled back in rage, but Scott nods. "It's a good plan."

"Stiles, get Lydia out of here," Deaton says quickly. "We'll hold down the fort."

"But my dad-"

"I'll take care of him," Scott assures me. I nod numbly, my mind still reeling from the shock, then I take hold of Lydia's arm and tug her out of the nemeton. When we're outside and not within earshot, I spin towards Lydia in anger.

"Are you _out of your mind_?"

She looks surprised, scared even, at my outburst, but says nothing, so I plunge on. "Where are you even gonna go? No one can protect you. You're better off if you just stay hidden somewhere in town." My fists are clenched at my sides, tightening and releasing. Yes, I'm that mad. Because Lydia would rather go off in the world without a plan where to go or hide and take the risk of being killed.

"You're forgetting Deucalion and his pack," she snaps right back at me. "They'd just use me anyways as leverage both ways. I'm better off if I leave."

My eyes shoot down to the ground, staring at the dirt, and Lydia chooses that moment to begin walking out of the forest. "Wait!" I catch her arm and she looks back at me, angered.

"What?" she says irritably.

"Let me come with you," I offer.

For a moment the facade she's been holding up so well drops and she looks directly into my eyes. Then the moment is gone and she says to me with a hard voice, "Your Dad needs you. And I can take care of myself." But her emerald eyes look unsteady, and I'm afraid she might fall apart any second. "I can do this by myself," she repeats softly, and I'm not sure this time if she's saying it to me or herself.

"You're unstable, Lydia. You've been walking around in the dead of night, finding dead bodies, and I don't know about you, but that would've scared the hell out of me. Your boyfriend left, and a supernatural being wants you dead. Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you're okay, because I know you're not."

She does look at me straight in the eyes but doesn't confess. Instead she starts screaming at me. "Tell me Stiles what difference it would make if you came with me, one of your parents is_ dead_, you've never recovered from that, your dad's almost been _sacrificed_, you were_ dead_ an hour ago and you have panic attacks! _Tell me what difference would it make!_"

I just feel numb and I can't even find the words to answer her.

Tree branches cracking underfoot sends our heads whipping to the source of the noise, and Jennifer emerges from the dark trees.

* * *

"Lydia, run," Stiles says to me quietly.

"Stiles-"

"Go now! _Run_!" He shoves me hard, but not hard enough to make me fall, and I don't know what's happening but my legs are running, far, far, far away from him and the trees are scratching me and I can't see, all I see is the dark. I'm running blindly, the air flying past me stinging the tears that are falling as I start to hear his tortured cries. I have to run. I'm forcing myself to, and it's hell listening to him screaming like that and being helpless, not being able to do anything to ease his pain, his suffering. I can't turn back around for him. I keep hearing him screaming, and even when it stops it's still echoing in my head, again and again and again and I don't know how but I make it to his car and start the engine, it's dark and I'm blind, and the engine is roaring to life under my fingertips. I can't see, but I can still hear him even when it's stopped. He's screaming my name now.

* * *

_A/N: So this is finally the continuation of Sink or Swim, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thoughts, opinions, and suggestions are very much welcome and I always appreciate your feedback ;) btw lydia's going to be having more than a tough time in the next few chapters and stiles? is he dead? hmm, you'll just have to wait and see ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

My hands are shaking, knuckles white, as I grip the steering wheel tightly. I'm driving at a breakneck pace, much too fast for the law, in my hurry to get out of Beacon Hills. I'm too afraid to look back; images of Jennifer and her slashed face torture me, as well a Stiles's screams that echo in the night. Stiles. I don't even know if he's alive, and he's risked his life to save me, multiple times. And what have I done for him?

Everything is an ugly, sick, twisted blur wherever I look.

My stomach is turning and I feel sick, and I'm running a cold sweat even though the air conditioner is blaring. My hearts feels like it's literally been ripped to pieces. My eyes start to drift and focus on nothing in particular, and it's not until a loud honk resounds that I snap out of my reverie. I quickly swerve the car to avoid the truck, and suddenly I'm crying again, for all the hopelessness in the world.

* * *

Far and safe away from Beacon Hills, I run to the only haven I know: my father.

Three years ago, my parents had an ugly divorce. At first I protested, kept my mind and mouth flooding with arguments as to why they couldn't, couldn't split apart but in the end I realized my attempts were futile and what they had decided was final. So I kept quiet, but it silently tore me apart. What would my mother think of me now, running to the man she hated?

I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing and money in my pocket, but luckily I miraculously scraped together enough for an airplane ticket to California. I was nervous and jittery the whole flight, my insides churning, and I thought I would be sick any moment. Throughout the bustling crowds I imagined Jennifer's slashed face, or even worse, Stiles calling out to me for help.

When we landed it was a prayer come true and I jumped off, hands shaking, not even noticing the funny looks people were throwing at me. A girl with no luggage who's mentally fragile. Normally I would've stood up straighter and bolder, but I was too weak to.

By the time I rang the doorbell to my father's house I had collapsed on the porch. I woke to his startling green eyes and a hand touching my shoulder gently, asking me with concern if I was alright. I half-heartedly mumbled "yes" and told him I was feeling dizzy, that was all. It didn't happen often. He gave me a strange look and I could tell he didn't believe me but went along with the white lies I threaded together.

My father showed me to a room and asked why I didn't have any baggage, and the reason for my sudden visit. I told him I'd gotten into a really big fight with Mom and had eventually fled the town, and coming here was a spur of the moment decision. He hugged me anyways and told me he was glad to see me.

Despite everything, I was glad to see him too. I hadn't seen him for a long time and at first I felt that I had home after the storm.

The feeling only lasted two days, on top of my mind battling anxiety. Once the exhiliration of seeing my father again faded and everything had dulled to normal, the fears that had always been at the back of my mind started pushing their way to the surface once again.

The incessant question that always plagued my mind filled my thoughts once again as I sat at my desk sketching on a sheet of paper. I'd originally been aiming for the nemeton - since, quite disappointingly - I'd discovered I couldn't draw anything well besides the tree. Lines began to form and my eyes had started to drift. When I looked down again i gave a blood-curdling scream.

Jennifer's slashed, torn, broken face.

It haunted my dreams. Was I really to become like her? We both of the same supernatural species, after all, and after seeing her immense, frightening power I still shuddered to think of myself under her mercy. She was corrupted, broken. Broken people do broken things, if that makes any sense. I guess it doesn't. I know I don't make any sense.

* * *

My room is quite pretty, I admit, but in my haze I'd never really noticed it. Never really noticed the pristine furniture, elaborate flooring, the white lace on my sheets. The prettiness and cleanness and whiteness of it all. If I had for once actually looked around me I would have wondered how something so white and pure could turn out to be so fragile, barely hanging onto life itself.

At night it is the worst. At night my thoughts turn to Stiles and Jennifer and Scott and Aidan and Isaac and Ethan and Scott and Allison and of course my mother - what had become of them all? I pray fervently for their wellbeing, despite knowing a single prayer doesn't help anything or anyone, it's logic that will find a solution. When I'm not worrying about them all my dreams turned to nightmares - and eventually I could not tell them apart.

There is darkness and blood and everything that is wrong in the world, that comes to haunt me, and my fist pressed firmly in my mouth is the only barrier that keeps my father from hearing my screams.

I can't tell my dreams apart from my nightmares anymore.

Throughout the midst of my nightmares, I find one that is far more horrifying than the rest. It goes like this: The forest is dark. It's night. There is no light anywhere; the luminescent moon is nowhere in sight. And at my feet lies Stiles bloody and torn. His now black, cold eyes stare up at me, the light receding, as his hand clutches for anything - anything - to hold onto to stay anchored. Red stems from his mouth, so dark and poignant I can see it even in the dark, but now it's not so dark now, at least I can see him.

I find myself holding onto his hand, a hand that's wet and slippery with his own blood. In the dream I can't talk, my mouth is only forming incoherent, wailing pleas and no sounds ever escape. I hold tightly to his hand, dreading the moment when I'll have to let go.

"Lydia," he chokes out, and his voice sounds muffled and underwater so I lean closer to hear him better, my heart hammering and my breathing rising and falling in quick pants.

"Lydia," he says in a weaker voice, and I desperately try to cling onto it, to try to summon my own strength.

"I'm here," I try to say, and I rub my thumb in soothing gestures on the back of his hand.

Stiles seems to smile at me for a moment, the corners of his lips barely turning upwards. "You stayed."

And my heart breaks into a thousand pieces all over again.

But then I am nothing when his head slumps back, the light now truly and forever gone from his eyes, leaving only darkness. The hand I was holding goes limp and his pulse is far gone. "Stiles!" I hold on tight to him, refusing to believe he's gone. I wrap my arms around him and wish could've been different, that I could've been stronger, that I could've been able to run back and fight with him instead of being the cause of this.

"Stiles!" But he's being dragged away from me now, though I scrape my fingernails wildly on the dirt, trying to claw my way back to him, because I have to save him, and the breath is being knocked out of my lungs but I don't care. I'm dragged backwards, only to see _her _face again.

And there are worse things after that, too, things that I still see, in the daytime. Even when I close my eyes the images still flash across.

When I awake, in day or night, shaken from the nightmares that chase after me, I'm doused in a cold sweat. My heart's pumping erratically, and everywhere I look feels surreal and I'm no longer sure what's real anymore.

* * *

After sometime my father suggests I go to school. Hunched over my art, I try not to look at him in horror. What's harder than keeping up my facade to show him everything's normal is keeping up the facade to myself.

A new school means new friends, new teachers, new everything. New Lydia. And I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for that yet.

I look up into my dad's face, and realize that I'd stayed here for weeks - and that he had finally just decided that I was going to be staying here for good.

"I'm not staying here forever," I say quickly, and instantly I regret the words that had come flying out of my mouth when I see the hurt look flash across his face.

"I know, Lyd," he manages to say, keeping the bitterness out of his tone. "But we wouldn't want you to get behind on your education." He raps his knuckles on the door lightly when he finds nothing else to say, and I listen to his retreating footsteps. He's not good with words most of the time, but my mom is.

Silently I wonder whether I'll be able to make it through or not. But I have to believe that everything's alright, because it can't be not alright back in Beacon Hills. It can't be not alright. It can't. Because then everything would have been my fault.

I look down at the paper and run my eyes across the nemeton. Gently I trace the thin, delicate branches with my fingers. The nemeton. The place where it all happened, where it all ended, weeks ago. I have to believe everyone is alright. Because if they're not, I'll lose myself, and I don't think this time anyone will be able to bring me back.

I tuck away my drawings and seat myself on my bed, then lie down, my hair fanning around me. I turn my head sideways and glance at myself in the mirror, probably the first time I've done so since I've arrived here.

The girl inside the mirror has wide green eyes, frightened and scared. Her hair is disheveled, loose and tangly, and she looks like she's barely holding herself upright. Her once perfect, straight clothes are crumpled and weary, like her.

I walk up to the mirror and touch my reflection, watching my hand in the glass meet my hand outside the glass. I lean my forehead against hers, and pretend it's another person, someone who's warm who can make me feel not so scared again.

The girl in the mirror is me, no matter how much I want to believe she's not.

But I have to show them. I have to show everybody once again that I'm not weak, that I'm pretty and popular and bold and perfect. That's the only thing I've ever been in control of. What others see me as. They don't know that now, the girl inside is broken and fragile. She's just barely treading water.

It's time to become Lydia Martin again.

* * *

_A/N: I really hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter. Last day of summer :/ back to school... anyways, tell me what you guys think of this chapter ;)_


End file.
